


Three Parts Living

by Chelle1117



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelle1117/pseuds/Chelle1117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They'd picked him up hours after he'd been released from the stakes, and had immediately started treating the bites topically. It never even occurred to John that there'd be a problem later.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Parts Living

"God dammit, McKay! Quit feeling sorry for yourself!" John's exasperated shout echoed in the hollow confines of the 'jumper.

"Oh, Well. Excuse me Colonel Pluck! It just so happens, in case you missed it in your utterly unobservant way, that this day happened to have sucked beyond the telling! You're not the one taken captive by aliens who wanted you to repair, rebuild, or engineer every failing piece of archaic technology within a twenty mile radius and when you refused, decided that stripping you naked and staking you out in the sun, _on an ant hill_ until you changed your mind was the best means of persuasion." Rodney returned the shout and added some volume of his own from the back of the 'jumper, where Teyla was applying salve to his burned and bitten skin.

At that, John took a deep breath and exhaled, thinking maybe he was being a little harsh, and was about to say so, when Rodney said - quietly and without any real blame, "You just left me there."

And he had. He knew it. He'd left both Rodney and Teyla in the village. Teyla, he trusted to negotiate a fair agricultural trade, and she'd been well on her way to do that, conferencing with the local leader in his offices. She'd assured John that both she and Rodney would be perfectly safe. Not seeing any evidence to the contrary, as well as not having that hinky feeling he'd learned to trust over his time in combat situations, John felt safe leaving them in the town.

He'd trusted Rodney to be able to handle the natives of PX7-442. They had simple tech which wouldn't cause huge problems, nor make Rodney eager to take it back to Atlantis, leading to a diplomatic emergency. Nope. John figured that while Teyla negotiated trade, Rodney would fix a few water wheels, devise a better irrigation system, maybe a communication network, and then he'd radio out and they'd be on their way.

So, he'd left; he and Ronon explored the countryside, scouting out the area as a possible beta site. His scouting had taken far outside the village, so that he'd had to make camp for a couple of days with Ronon. That was okay, he'd radio'd to check on Rodney a few times in that time, and every time, he'd been assured that Rodney was fine. He should have known something was up on the last day out, when the local village leaders refused to let him talk to Rodney, saying that he was too busy with the wells or irrigation system to come back to his radio. It never even occurred to John to be suspicious of why Rodney didn't have his radio with him.

But that wasn't his fault, and he'd declare that till he was blue in the face if he ever was asked. Rodney sometimes _did_ remove his radio when he was busy off world. Especially if the team were there for more than two days. He always said it was easier to work without all the complications. So, yeah. From now on? Rodney would keep his radio and if he didn't answer John's calls personally – busy or not – John would physically check up on him.

"I know, McKay," he said, coming back to the argument at hand. "I'm...I didn't mean to just..."

"What, Colonel? Desert me? Leave me to the whim and mercies of an egregiously uncivilized group of natives who can't even manage proper waste disposal? Is that what you didn't mean to do?"

"It's not...You weren't _alone_ , McKay," John said.

"Yes, yes. I forgot, while you and Ronon were off exploring the woods for god knows what, Teyla and I were left to our own devices in separate sections of what could only in the most rudimentary definition be called a town. I was alone, Colonel. For two days."

Teyly nodded. "This is true, John. I was thoroughly engrossed in my negotiations with Idith. I did not manage to see Dr. McKay for the entire two days," she said as she smoothed a cooling salve over Rodney's bare shoulder.

Rodney, tense and irritated already, hissed, "Ouch! God. Was torture part of your warrior princess training?"

"Rodney, I am trying to help you; however, you are severely sun burned, and no matter how much care I use to apply this treatment, it will be uncomfortable."

Rodney let out a long slow breath as he met her eyes. "I know, I'm sorry," he muttered, sounding tired.

"May I continue, Rodney?"

Rodney, with a contrite nod, waved her on. "Yeah, go ahead. I'll try to keep my cringing down to a minimum."

Teyla smiled and whispered something forgiving and returned to rubbing the salve over Rodney's skin.

And that was something new.

Since the the debacle with reactivating Elizabeth's nanites, Rodney had more forthcoming with apologies. Though they came more frequently, the apologies Rodney tended to make were subdued and seemed to shrink him just a little bit more each time. Every time John heard Rodney say "I'm sorry," in that defeated tone, John had to bite back a desire for his more acerbic and arrogant Rodney. This contrite one just didn't make any sense. Though he had to admit, if there was any lesson that he wanted Rodney to learn after Doranda, that was it: know when you're wrong, and be willing to admit it. And it looked like Rodney was good at more than just academic learning.

Another thing John noticed lately that was disconcerting was how both Ronon and Teyla could so easily switch between McKay and Rodney, depending on the circumstances. It indicated an ease in their friendship - their team-ship – that John couldn't feel or wouldn't allow himself to feel. No, that wasn't right either. He felt it, alright. He just didn't need to put too fine a point on it. Rodney was Rodney in his head. When he thought of Atlantis' Chief Science Officer, he didn't think of _Dr. McKay_ ; he thought of _Rodney_. That he very rarely called him that didn't mean anything. Professionalism was all that was. He couldn't have the rest of Atlantis hearing him be anything less than professional when talking to Rodney. McKay. There, see, McKay, even in his head.

"Hey, Sheppard. You wanna fly this thing straight? You'll miss the gate if you don't ease up." Ronon's admonishment came in the form of a wry whisper.

"Yeah," he replied, easing up on the controls and correcting course. "Thanks, buddy."

Ronon huffed out a laugh. "Anytime." Then, "Hey. You know McKay's gonna be alright. Little ant bit, but he's fine."

John shot a look out of the corner of his eye. "I know. I just..."

"Feel guilty."

"No. Not guilty, but," John began.

Ronon waved him off. "You shouldn't have left him."

And that felt like an accusation.

"Hey! I didn't know what was going to happen. They seemed like nice people, tolerant even. I mean, did you see how they just ignored Rodney that first day? I thought sure there'd be an uprising when he refused to eat."

"Sheppard. You think you shouldn't have left him." Ronon leaned over in his seat to look back at Teyla and Rodney, then cut his eyes to John. "Doesn't matter what's fact. You feel responsible. You always do. Some things just happen. You just gotta deal. Besides, he's gonna be fine."

John nodded, understanding what Ronon was trying to say, but still not over the fact that he'd let Rodney be abused in such a way.

He set course for the 'gate, letting the automatic pilot take over, then was just getting ready to head to the back of the 'jumper when Teyla shouted, "Rodney?"

John whipped around to see Teyla grabbing at Rodney's shoulders, and shaking him.

Rodney's face was bright red, eyes wide, and lips moving as though trying to speak. John watched as the color leached from his face, and his lips turned blue, and he knew. The ant bites. Poison. It snuck up on them, took a while. They'd picked him up hours after he'd been released from the stakes, and had immediately started treating the bites topically. It never even occurred to John that there'd be a problem later.

But there was, and Rodney was choking, not getting any air, and John was paralyzed for a moment – not even a few seconds - before he rushed into action, digging into his flak vest for the extra epi-pen he kept on hand for emergencies. Scrambling to the back of the 'jumper, within seconds he had Rodney's pants ripped open at the top of his thigh and the pen pushed against his leg, injecting the epinephrine.

Rodney's hands flailed until they found purchase around John's biceps. His fingers were tight around John's arms, and he stared into John's eyes. _Help! Don't let me die!_ and _thank you_ shining out of Rodney's bloodshot eyes.

"I got you, McKay. It's gonna be okay, we're heading back, I'll have Keller and a med team in the 'jumper bay – Ronon!" He shouted.

"On it."

Ronon dialed the gate and radio'd ahead for Col. Carter to have a team standing by.

Rodney was barely breathing now, the epinephrine cutting some of the reaction, but his lips were still blue, and he couldn't talk. His fingers kept flexing tighter and tighter on John's arms, and all John could do was whisper, "You're okay, we're gonna take care of you. You'll be alright." He shot a look at Teyla, who nodded and grabbed Rodney's flak jacket from the floor of the 'jumper. She searched through the pockets, finally coming up with some Benadryl capsules and another epi-pen. "See, McKay. Prepared."

She handed the pills over with a canteen of water. John held them up to Rodney, who shook his head, and John knew they were in trouble. "He can not swallow?" Teyla asked.

John shook his head. "No. His...his throat's closing up." He turned to Ronon. "How far from the gate are we?"

"About thirty seconds."

"McKay? Did you hear that? Thirty seconds and you're gonna be fine."

Rodney looked up at him, face ashen and trembling. He tried to speak, but John shook his head. "Don't try to talk, concentrate on breathing. I know it's hard, but do it. You'll be fine. I promise."

Keeping a hand on Rodney's knee, he looked out the window of the 'jumper, saw their approach to the gate and whispered a quick prayer to the cosmos that the med team was ready. Then they were in the wormhole.

***

By the time the 'jumper settled, Rodney had completely stopped breathing again, and was unconscious. In the space of a minute, he'd gone from alert and terrified to limp and totally unaware. As the back hatch came down, John stared into his lax face and willed him to wake up, but was shoved out of the way. He heard Keller shouting orders, and two other doctors were lifting Rodney up onto a gurney and hooking him up to machines.

"1 miligram epinephrine, we need to get his heart started again, and get him on 2 liters of O2 immediately." Keller turned to John. "What happened? Is this an allergic reaction? Was it something he ate or something else? What have you done so far?"

John gaped at her, unable to answer her questions; they came flying at him too fast. Teyla responded, "He was bitten several hundred times by a species of insect on the planet. Also, he was exposed to the sun, unprotected, for several hours. We did not think this to be a threat, for he seemed well when we retrieved him and had no symptoms for several hours. This reaction, however, had a very sudden onset. I've seen Dr. McKay have a reaction to food, and while that is frightening in its speed, it is nothing compared to this. We almost did not get the medicine to him in time."

"Anything else I should be made aware of?" Keller asked.

"Yes. He seemed to respond to the first dose of the pen. He was able to breathe for a short amount of time; however, the effect was not long lasting. He could not swallow anything, even while the medicine worked, and he stopped breathing again a short time later."

John followed the conversation as they made their way quickly to the infirmary, but his eyes were on the gurney in front of them. One of the doctors stood on the frame, pushing on Rodney's chest, while another squeezed the bag over his mouth and nose. They were beating his heart and breathing for him. John couldn't breathe for a second with the weight crushing his chest.

"Colonel Sheppard?" he felt a small hand on his arm, bruises where Rodney had grabbed him aching under Jennifer's fingers. "Colonel Sheppard? We're gonna take care of him. I promise. He's gonna be okay. Just looks like a routine reaction to an overabundance of toxins. Not a McKay allergic reaction, but one that anyone could have. Seeing his skin, I'd be even more surprised if this hadn't happened." She patted his arm, when he finally looked down at her. "I'm going to take care of him. Let me do my thing, and I'll be out in a bit with more news." She smiled, reassuringly. "Not to worry, Colonel. You'll be arguing again in no time."

"Doc?"

"I know," she let the smile fall off her face. "I'll let you know more as soon as I do." And then she was gone, disappearing behind those damn doors.

He felt another small hand on his arm, this one much stronger, however, and looked down into Teyla's knowing and concerned eyes. "John. Come away. Let us let the doctors take care of him. Perhaps you would like to inform Col. Carter of the mission?"

He blinked at her. "It's my fault," he started, only to be hushed by her raised eyebrow.

"Do not concern yourself at this moment, John. Fulfill your duty. De-brief," she said it like it was two words, still unfamiliar to her, "with Colonel Carter, then we shall discuss fault, if there is indeed any to be handed out."

***

Several hours later, John sat next to Rodney's bed, watching him sleep peacefully. He'd been afraid to return to the infirmary after his meeting with Colonel Carter. Worried that he'd see Rodney attached to machines breathing for him, that the blip on the ancient monitor would be too slow, too mechanical, no life from Rodney making it dance. He'd been so afraid of what he'd find in the infirmary that he'd avoided coming for a few hours.

The debrief with Col. Carter had taken all of thirty minutes. She only seemed interested in what they could trade with the people of PX7-422. When he'd attempted to apologize for what happened to Rodney, she met his stare with a lifted eyebrow.

"Had you done such a thing before? Left Rodney with a group of people trusting him to handle himself well and not get into trouble?"

"Well, sure, but-"

"And had he ever removed his radio and entrusted the people with reporting to you before this?"

"Yes, but this time," he said, but was interrupted again.

"Then I don't see a problem, Colonel. It could have happened to any team, and probably would have happened if you _hadn't_ left Rodney to his own devices."

"No, ma'am, it would _not_ have happened had I been there, because I wouldn't have _let_ it happen. I'd have had him out of there before those people could blink."

"John. If you'd been there – in town – you wouldn't have been doing your job, and worse things could have happened. Trust me on this." She smiled at him, trying to make him understand. "This isn't your fault, John. You were on a routine mission, which just happened to go a little haywire. It happens to the best of us." The last said with a touch of sympathy and irony. "Now," she took a steadying breath, and started shuffling papers, a dismissal if ever John had seen one, "Go. Check on Rodney, complete your report – I want to know what, if anything, you found that could be useful. Dismissed, Colonel."

After that, he still hadn't wanted to go back to the infirmary, not trusting himself completely to be cool, so he'd gone to the mess, picked out one of the not-bananas that were shaped like apples, and a bottle of water. He wasn't really hungry, but he knew he hadn't eaten since before they picked up McKay and that part of the reason he was feeling so crappy had a little bit to do with that. He took a seat near the window, so he could look out at the water under the moons of New Lantea and munched on his snack.  
Ronon joined him a few minutes later with a tray full of food and a hard gaze.

John tolerated the staring for about two minutes, then just snapped. "What?"

Ronon grunted, rolled his eyes, and started to eat. John noticed his use of the fork, and had to smile. It had taken a while, but Ronon was finally coming into his own. When he'd first arrived on Atlantis, he'd been so raw. Used to being on the run, taking care of himself, never in one place long enough to need manners, let alone use them, Ronon had stayed on guard and almost feral for the first year he was on Atlantis. Now that he'd been there a couple years, John noticed a smoothing of the edges.

Ronon had manners, impeccable manners. He said 'please' and 'thank you,' ate with gusto, but none of the barbarism of the first years. Rodney still called him a caveman, but more and more John understood that caveman was the least of what Ronon was. He was poetic, simple, graceful, insightful, and though he had a hard time with the tech speak, Ronon was supremely intelligent – particularly in tactical strategies. He just kept his proverbial light under a bushel. In that way he was similar to John.

John chuckled and found himself the target of a questioning glance under raised eyebrows.

He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Hm."

John sighed. "All right, buddy. Spit it out."

"Got nothing to say." Ronon took another bite of food.

"Right."

He swallowed, then took a swallow of water. "Really. What's to say? It's not your fault. McKay's gonna be fine. You did your job; he was doing his; stuff happens. This is Pegasus." He sniffed and turned back to his plate. "Oh, yeah, and stop making everything about you."

That had John blinking. "What?"

It was then he noticed the very careful way Ronon didn't meet his eyes, the controlled movement of his arms, his shoulders, how very still the big man was. "You don't think-"

"I think the same thing you do, Sheppard." This whispered quietly to Ronon's plate, and John had a new something to deal with. Ronon felt guilty.

"Ronon, you didn't do anything," John started to reassure him.

"I was with you. If you were wrong, if we should have been with McKay, then I was wrong too. One of us should have stayed, and since it's your job here to make first contact and report back, mine must be to protect the team. I didn't. McKay got hurt." Ronon shoved his half empty plate away from him, and John found himself in the unenviable position of having to parrot back the words he'd heard since Rodney went into anaphylaxis.

But he couldn't say them. He opened his mouth, took the breath, then met Ronon's gaze. Irony shone out of the clear light eyes, and John just closed his mouth. Nothing he could say would take away Ronon's misplaced guilt, just like nothing anyone else said to John, himself, would take away his own _misplaced_ guilt. And then he smiled.

"Good one, buddy."

Ronon cocked an eyebrow at him. "You going to the infirmary now?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Then he pulled his tray back in front of him and continued eating.

***

Teyla was sitting next to Rodney's bed when John arrived at the infirmary. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised as though ready to _discuss_ things, but John just smiled, and she must have understood, because she stood, laid a palm to Rodney's forehead and brushed his hair back.

"I was wondering," she whispered on her way out, "if we would need to have a conversation. I am glad to see we do not." She laid her hands on John's shoulders and lowered her head. He touched his forehead to hers, and whispered gratefully, "So am I." Then she drifted out of the infirmary, her footsteps barely discernable on the cool floor.

John exhaled a deep breath, then turned and looked, really looked at Rodney.

There were no tubes, no blinking machines, just Rodney, pale faced and relaxed in a drugged sleep. John wondered over to sit in the chair recently vacated by Teyla. Settling down, he glanced around the infirmary, looking to see if anyone was around, and not spying anyone, he reached up and tentatively, as though he'd forgotten how to, took Rodney's hand in his own.

It was warm, not chilly or clammy, like he'd feared. He ran his thumb over the back, feeling the bones beneath the skin. He'd never really paid attention to Rodney's hands before. Long and deceptively slim, with blunted fingers that had scars crisscrossing over his knuckles, Rodney's hands were more delicate than John had previously thought. This was a hand he'd watched shove crystals and conduits where they needed to be; this was a hand that had butchered Wraith tech in the effort to escape from one hive or another, this was a hand that had cramped itself around innumerable dry-erase markers trying to navigate one equation or another; this was a hand that had brought Zelenka back from the dead, had healed Ronon's scars, had snapped theories into fact, and brought power to the city.

Every part of Rodney was broad, larger than life and in your face; even, John had thought, his hands. But looking at them, he could see them stretched out over a computer keyboard, typing in specs for one project or another. He could see long fingers stretched across octaves on the piano, picking out chords and melodies at their leisure. And he could see those fingers clasped around his arms, twisting his jacket, bruising his skin in fear and pain and helplessness. If he had anything to say about it, they would never be in that position again.

He lifted the hand in his to his mouth and pressed his lips against the warm, dry skin. It was a revelation. The first time he'd ever indulged in that kind of behavior. And for the first time, he wasn't worried about it. Rodney was his friend who nearly died. And who had been more than just a friend in John's head for a long time now.

He sighed and lowered Rodney's hand back to the bed.

"Mmm. Sheppard?" Rodney's sleepy whisper barely reached John's ears.

"It's okay, Rodney. Go back to sleep."

Rodney's eyes opened, and he blinked several times, trying to focus. "Sheppard?"

"Shhh. Go back to sleep."

Rodney smiled, blissful and sleepy and let his eyes close again. "You called me Rodney," he said, then his eyes snapped open. "Oh god," he croaked, "I'm dead, aren't I?"

John laughed, "No, Rodney. You're not dead." And suddenly, under the force of Rodney's sleepy, terrified gaze, John had an irresistible impulse. He leaned over the bed, rested his forehead against Rodney's then slowly and inexorably pressed his lips to Rodney's.

It was a soft kiss, nothing adventurous or even arduous, just a brief meeting of lips meant to reassure. "You're not dead, Rodney, I swear. And if you sleep some more, get better, I'll show you just how not dead you really are."

"If I'm not dead, am I dreaming?"

John chuckled, "Now that? Is a distinct possibility. Why don't you go back to sleep, and when you wake up tomorrow, we'll try to figure it out, huh?"

Rodney's eyes drifted shut under a furrowed brow. "Oh. Okay, yeah." He said, settling into the pillow again. Then, eyes slowly opening again, he said, his words slurring, "Tired...but....mornin' ...snds...gd." And he was asleep.

"Yeah, Buddy. Morning definitely sounds good." He settled back into the chair, and stayed.

THE END  



End file.
